Resolve
by CherryValiant
Summary: He had failed at finding his Sun. Perhaps the demons should take him... One-shot about Solaire and the Chosen Undead. Romantic feelings implied,


He had wished for death.

He had prayed, to the Sun and to Gwyn and to anyone else in the world who could hear, that the centipede demon would snap his spine in its mandibles. He had descended into the very heart of chaos and had found nothing.

No goal, no sun. Only death and famine and the bitter realization that there was no sun in Lordran for him. He has stared upon the throne of the gods and found it empty, saw the daughter of Gwyn with his own eyes, and felt nothing.

No purpose awaited him in this life, and as an Undead, he had a much longer life to lead. His will to search, to adventure, was gone. Extinguished. Dead.

The hideous insect howled in pain, flailing about in the lava in a desperate attempt to kill them both with what little life it had left. Its many legs and jaws snapped towards them, panicked, desperate for their flesh. In a numb and blind decision, Solaire dropped his sword to the charred stones, holding his arms out to allow the beast an easy shot at his heart.

It saw him, and lunged, teeth glimmering with heat and blood. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the blistering heat coming up in waves from the ground as the Sun. But death didn't come.

He was shoved aside, and he tumbled to his back. There she stood, covered in burns, firmly in the jaws of the centipede. He scrambled to his feet, prepared to decapitate the monster to save his only friend, when he was blinded with white light.

He watched the beast dissolve into pure energy, losing all form as it was sucked into her body. Her sword, still held aloft, was where its throat had been mere moments before. Again, she had saved his life, even when he tried his best to end it.

He couldn't see her eyes behind the helm, but he could tell she was staring at him. A woman of few words, his comrade. He'd only ever gotten short nods of the head from her. He often wondered if she could speak at all.

He came back into the world when he was sat beside a smile bonfire. He'd been completely lost within his mind. Everything within him felt numb.

His friend lit the flames, and even though he was seated away, he could feel the relief flood over him. His partner dropped to her rear beside him, undoing the flask from her side and offering it to him.

"Oh, no need. I've my own," he says weakly, but still, she shoves the Estus at him. He stares at the golden liquid for a moment before taking it with shaking hands. He lifts his helmet just enough to put the flask to his lips – it tasted much different than his own – and handed it back to her.

She continues to watch him, black iron armor somehow masking her features yet reflecting his own for him to pity. What kind of honorable man would willingly forgo his life while his partner, his sister-in-arms, fought on in his stead? Was he really willing to watch her die from his own weakness?

The thought stung his throat and eyes.

"Why?" he finally chokes out, "…why after searching for so long have I found nothing?"

Her hand, stained with blood, finds his knee. His entire body relaxes, releasing tension he wasn't aware he'd been carrying. So long had he wandered, so many lives he'd taken, all for what? A mere chance of being Chosen? And now, watching his friend dig through her bag, he knew she'd been Chosen by the gods, not he. But he knew that upon their first meeting, did he not?

He comes back from his mind as something cold is pressed into his hands. He unfurls his fingers to find a white soapstone, barely more than a nub. It had been well used. He smiles ever so slightly.

"You use it often," he asks without expecting an answer. His thumb rubs idly over the surface, the chill welcome in these ruins. She pulls something else from her side, opening and closing his fist around it again.

"What games do you play?" he asks around a sad chuckle, opening his hand once more to find a delicate ring. It was engraved with markings familiar to him. He knew one of the words…

"This is Gwynevere's ring! You were graced with the gift of a Goddess?" he exclaims, holding the ring closer to him to study it. Such a remarkable thing! So small, yet with it is carried all the blessings of the daughter of the Sun himself!

She pushes his hands to his chest, and for a moment, he is confused as to her meaning.

"You wish for me to keep this?" he finally whispers, and the black iron helmet bobs. He protests profusely, yet she refuses to take it back. It was much too small for any finger of his, but he pulls a cord from his bag, laces it through, and fastens it round his neck. He feels the small circle press warmly into his skin, protected by his chest plate.

Yet again, she places an item in his palm, and yet again he opens it.

"Oho!" he laughs, holding the Sunlight medal triumphantly before him. "Magnificent! I knew you would fancy it! It is good to see you with one! I knew you would feel kinship within the Warriors of Sunlight!"

She pushes his hand to his chest again, and he doesn't protest keeping this. Their golden auras always brought him comfort during particularly dark nights.

Suddenly, his hand is taken and turned over. Before he can react, she places it at the center of her chest, the metal incredibly hot, even though his gauntlet. They sit in silence for a time, neither's eyes meeting through their helmets, yet each watching the other.

Her free hand digs under the iron, and in a swift movement, she tugs off her helm, revealing her face.

He'd never seen her face before. Truly, he'd only known her gender from a rather rude comment Patches had made about her rear, after which he corrected the man on how to properly address a Warrior of Sunlight, female or no.

She was remarkable. Thin eyes told of Eastern heritage, thick black hair, tied into a bun atop her head now fell in strands about her face. Her lips were full, her eyes wonderfully dark. She smelled of burning flesh and brimstone and sunlight.

"I am truly blessed to have found such a brave companion. No words you've ever spoken to me, yet your warmth, your heart, I've always dreamt of when the sun falls low. No words can do justice to the honor you've bestowed me with, to see your features. I do not even know your name, yet I pray to Gwyn that you will know the truth in my words. You are a gift from the heavens."

She smiles, a brilliant sight in the hellscape surrounding them.

The Lordvessel weighed upon her, and they both knew that Izalith was the final piece to this journey. Their time was very short.

Yet, perhaps they could rest a moment longer.

As her weight settled into his side, he thought, for the first time in many months, that perhaps his Sun wasn't as far away as he thought.


End file.
